


A Moment of Peace

by Fireloom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adlock, F/M, Irene Adler - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, adlock yacht, sherine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 13:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireloom/pseuds/Fireloom
Summary: A moment of peace. It’s all they wanted. Their lives being torn to shreds in front of their eyes was all it took to bring them back to each other; clawing like animals at the other’s door, begging to be taken in and away from the harsh cold of a world they no longer understood.





	

# A Moment of Peace

By: Fireloom

A moment of peace. It’s all they wanted. Their lives being torn to shreds in front of their eyes was all it took to bring them back to each other; clawing like animals at the other’s door, begging to be taken in and away from the harsh cold of a world they no longer understood.

 

His life was gone, and with it, every inkling of normality. _Things change._ They always said that, didn’t they? He lived by the statement but never really believed it. To him, he would always be the same. The same consulting detective, the same little brother, the same high functioning sociopath, the same _person_... Months of living this new life went past before he realised he didn’t even know that person anymore. And as those harsh days drew on, he no longer recognised the man he knew he should be.

 

Stability was lost, completely and thoroughly. He no longer had his older brother to bail him out of a tough spot, or his helpmate to have his back. It was only him. A solitary life. He always thought he had one but he learnt the hard way what one of those really meant for him. Days went past where he didn't say a word. Nights creeped on as he talked the walls of his hotels’ ears off. People say you go stir crazy in loneliness. He had only just begun to understand what that meant.

 

Maybe that’s why he first did it. The loneliness become overbearing to the point where he craved _anything_ from another person. Just one bit of kindness that he didn't have to pay something for. He needed someone to fill the gaping hole that had torn itself into his chest.

 

He tried many things before then; pushing through the depression and just getting on with his mission, seeking out those little thrills with his first love; the stinging bite of the needle, but both of these ended in a regime that became too harmful. He needed something else...

 

He needed a moment away from the torment, from the addiction and the exhaustion. He knew he could never find a place where this moment existed on his own. He belonged nowhere now. He wasn't accepted to feel ok in the darkened world. At least before he had his apartment. His little, pokey, comfortable apartment. A place to call home.

 

But he didn’t even have that anymore.

  


It was chatter on the streets, as it always was, that set him on his venture. The streets were hot and smoggy, tarmac melting beneath his feat. locals scurried around him on their scooters or on foot. He already tried to find that moment of peace here. He failed in his mission. What started as a peaceful looking scenario ended with him hurling and retching into the ocean, chasing a member of the island mafia down, and having his passport stolen. He quickly gave up looking for that moment here... until he heard about a cottage on the far side of the island, tucked away in the rocks and creavases of a beachside cliff. Moreso, until he heard about the occupant of that cottage.

 

He knew this little cottage would be where he found that moment of sweet peace. When he knew what it meant, he felt what he’d come to know as hope. A hope that maybe things will be a bit easier afterward. And he was right. The world was still unfamiliar and callous to him, but just one night was all it took to get him through.

 

A buzz of sensation hit him when he approached the cottage. It was a relief to _feel_ something again. All that he was was a dull numbness. Even when his life was threatened day after day, all he felt was the absence of everything. He didn’t even care anymore. But that moment was different. And as he knocked on the door he knew he was so close to finding a slither of peace.

 

 _She_ answered, as he knew she would. She didn’t ask but she didn’t have to. She knew why he was there. She took him into her home, gave him food and a place to rest. He needed the release of sustenance but moreso, her company was what gave back to him a life he had lost. They hardly spoke, in words that is. But nothing need be said. She understood what he was going through, what he wanted. She wanted it too. Just a little moment of peace.

 

The noon turned into evening and then night as they stayed there in that little cottage. She offered him a drink and he accepted. A smile crept onto his face at the bottle. Cobra Whisky. The drink was good, even though a few scales got caught between his teeth and the preserved snake kept giving him a beady glare. It was a delicacy that he enjoyed, just like the woman who gave it to him.

 

It wasn’t until the bottle was empty did he finally reach for the thing he always denied himself. He kissed her, and she kissed him back... The slither of emotion he felt before was but the buzz of a fly compared to the ocean of sensation he was drowning in. It was never ok before, but now that everything else had changed in its entirety, this one value might aswell too. He gave in.

 

He left the next day, when the moment was over and he had to return to the world that despised him. But he wasn’t alone after that. She had given him something, a piece of her heart. It was intangible, but he didn't need to see it, hear it, or feel it to know it was there. He left something intangible with her too, though some would say she took it from him. He says he gave it to her.  

 

After that day, the world seemed just a little brighter.

 

But it didn’t last long. The afterglow of that moment of peace wore off after the sixth or seventh near death experience and at least eighteen more notches on his belt. Life had taken it’s toll and he couldn’t see why he was doing it any more. So many times had he had to come to terms with his possible death that the threat of such no longer held weight. Not even from himself. His own death he had gotten into the habit of planning. He said that if somehow the hordes of criminals didn't get to him, he would do it himself. He didn't care. Didn't care if he got to end of his journey, didn’t care if he returned to London a hero or a broken man. The latter being more likely. They were safe, his family back home. Probably even more safe without him being there. So he toyed with the idea, dreamt of the day he would inject just a little too much cocaine, deliberately slipped up in a dangerous situation, or even participate in the more old fashioned ways. He'd taken the knife to his wrists more times than once.

 

But he never did it. Somehow, something was gripping onto him, pulling him away from going through with his suicide. Eventually he realised what it was. A tiny shattering of a broken womans heart... She was the only one who would care anymore. So every time he felt her heart reminding him that someone still knew him, he put the knife away, put the needle down, stayed hidden until the right time. He kept himself alive for the glimmer of something that could have been.

 

Things got better eventually. He kept moving countries, changing names, doing his job. He got used to the new life he had become to accept as his own. The road to giving up on being that same person he always thought he was was not as hard as he thought it would be. Not as hard as it felt. He stopped taking knives to his skin but he still jabbed needles in his arm. Less often, to his credit. He could feel that the end was near. That he would return to his old life soon enough. It took over him like a spring breeze, signaling the coming of energy and wonder again.

 

The nearing of his return home left a bittersweet taste in his mouth though. He knew that he would be giving one life for another. He would gladly throw this one away, stomp on it and light it on fire if he could. But one thing kept him holding onto it. He wouldn't see her again. The last time was easy. He had long since lost contact with Mycroft when he heard about her little cottage, and the only people who would even care that they were together have been dead for months. When he gets back home though... It will difficult, nearing impossible to attempt to see her again.

 

That’s why he was beyond glad the next time he met her. He didn't ask, but he didn't have to. He already knew why she was there. He took her into his home, gave her food and a place to rest. She needed the release of sustenance but moreso, his company was what gave back to her a life she had lost. They hardly spoke, in words that is. But nothing need be said. He understood what she was going through, what she wanted. He wanted it too.

  
Just a little moment of peace. moment of peace. It’s all they wanted. Their lives being torn to shreds in front of their eyes was all it took to bring them back to each other; clawing like animals at the other’s door, begging to be taken in and away from the harsh cold of a world they no longer understood.

 

His life was gone, and with it, every inkling of normality. _Things change._ They always said that, didn’t they? He lived by the statement but never really believed it. To him, he would always be the same. The same consulting detective, the same little brother, the same high functioning sociopath, the same _person_... Months of living this new life went past before he realised he didn’t even know that person anymore. And as those harsh days drew on, he no longer recognised the man he knew he should be.

 

Stability was lost, completely and thoroughly. He no longer had his older brother to bail him out of a tough spot, or his helpmate to have his back. It was only him. A solitary life. He always thought he had one but he learnt the hard way what one of those really meant for him. Days went past where he didn't say a word. Nights creeped on as he talked the walls of his hotels’ ears off. People say you go stir crazy in loneliness. He had only just begun to understand what that meant.

 

Maybe that’s why he first did it. The loneliness become overbearing to the point where he craved _anything_ from another person. Just one bit of kindness that he didn't have to pay something for. He needed someone to fill the gaping hole that had torn itself into his chest.

 

He tried many things before then; pushing through the depression and just getting on with his mission, seeking out those little thrills with his first love; the stinging bite of the needle, but both of these ended in a regime that became too harmful. He needed something else...

 

He needed a moment away from the torment, from the addiction and the exhaustion. He knew he could never find a place where this moment existed on his own. He belonged nowhere now. He wasn't accepted to feel ok in the darkened world. At least before he had his apartment. His little, pokey, comfortable apartment. A place to call home.

 

But he didn’t even have that anymore.

  


It was chatter on the streets, as it always was, that set him on his venture. The streets were hot and smoggy, tarmac melting beneath his feat. locals scurried around him on their scooters or on foot. He already tried to find that moment of peace here. He failed in his mission. What started as a peaceful looking scenario ended with him hurling and retching into the ocean, chasing a member of the island mafia down, and having his passport stolen. He quickly gave up looking for that moment here... until he heard about a cottage on the far side of the island, tucked away in the rocks and creavases of a beachside cliff. Moreso, until he heard about the occupant of that cottage.

 

He knew this little cottage would be where he found that moment of sweet peace. When he knew what it meant, he felt what he’d come to know as hope. A hope that maybe things will be a bit easier afterward. And he was right. The world was still unfamiliar and callous to him, but just one night was all it took to get him through.

 

A buzz of sensation hit him when he approached the cottage. It was a relief to _feel_ something again. All that he was was a dull numbness. Even when his life was threatened day after day, all he felt was the absence of everything. He didn’t even care anymore. But that moment was different. And as he knocked on the door he knew he was so close to finding a slither of peace.

 

 _She_ answered, as he knew she would. She didn’t ask but she didn’t have to. She knew why he was there. She took him into her home, gave him food and a place to rest. He needed the release of sustenance but moreso, her company was what gave back to him a life he had lost. They hardly spoke, in words that is. But nothing need be said. She understood what he was going through, what he wanted. She wanted it too. Just a little moment of peace.

 

The noon turned into evening and then night as they stayed there in that little cottage. She offered him a drink and he accepted. A smile crept onto his face at the bottle. Cobra Whisky. The drink was good, even though a few scales got caught between his teeth and the preserved snake kept giving him a beady glare. It was a delicacy that he enjoyed, just like the woman who gave it to him.

 

It wasn’t until the bottle was empty did he finally reach for the thing he always denied himself. He kissed her, and she kissed him back... The slither of emotion he felt before was but the buzz of a fly compared to the ocean of sensation he was drowning in. It was never ok before, but now that everything else had changed in its entirety, this one value might aswell too. He gave in.

 

He left the next day, when the moment was over and he had to return to the world that despised him. But he wasn’t alone after that. She had given him something, a piece of her heart. It was intangible, but he didn't need to see it, hear it, or feel it to know it was there. He left something intangible with her too, though some would say she took it from him. He says he gave it to her.  

 

After that day, the world seemed just a little brighter.

 

But it didn’t last long. The afterglow of that moment of peace wore off after the sixth or seventh near death experience and at least eighteen more notches on his belt. Life had taken it’s toll and he couldn’t see why he was doing it any more. So many times had he had to come to terms with his possible death that the threat of such no longer held weight. Not even from himself. His own death he had gotten into the habit of planning. He said that if somehow the hordes of criminals didn't get to him, he would do it himself. He didn't care. Didn't care if he got to end of his journey, didn’t care if he returned to London a hero or a broken man. The latter being more likely. They were safe, his family back home. Probably even more safe without him being there. So he toyed with the idea, dreamt of the day he would inject just a little too much cocaine, deliberately slipped up in a dangerous situation, or even participate in the more old fashioned ways. He'd taken the knife to his wrists more times than once.

 

But he never did it. Somehow, something was gripping onto him, pulling him away from going through with his suicide. Eventually he realised what it was. A tiny shattering of a broken womans heart... She was the only one who would care anymore. So every time he felt her heart reminding him that someone still knew him, he put the knife away, put the needle down, stayed hidden until the right time. He kept himself alive for the glimmer of something that could have been.

 

Things got better eventually. He kept moving countries, changing names, doing his job. He got used to the new life he had become to accept as his own. The road to giving up on being that same person he always thought he was was not as hard as he thought it would be. Not as hard as it felt. He stopped taking knives to his skin but he still jabbed needles in his arm. Less often, to his credit. He could feel that the end was near. That he would return to his old life soon enough. It took over him like a spring breeze, signaling the coming of energy and wonder again.

 

The nearing of his return home left a bittersweet taste in his mouth though. He knew that he would be giving one life for another. He would gladly throw this one away, stomp on it and light it on fire if he could. But one thing kept him holding onto it. He wouldn't see her again. The last time was easy. He had long since lost contact with Mycroft when he heard about her little cottage, and the only people who would even care that they were together have been dead for months. When he gets back home though... It will difficult, nearing impossible to attempt to see her again.

 

That’s why he was beyond glad the next time he met her. He didn't ask, but he didn't have to. He already knew why she was there. He took her into his home, gave her food and a place to rest. She needed the release of sustenance but moreso, his company was what gave back to her a life she had lost. They hardly spoke, in words that is. But nothing need be said. He understood what she was going through, what she wanted. He wanted it too.

A little moment of peace.


End file.
